Luxury Comforter Sets

I weave together words, leaving a verdict in my wake
Filling the pauses with a melodic noise.
Syllables are the metronome, the tic-tock that pounds out each mistake
Until the machine hums out the beauty beholden in my choice.
Reflected in myself, I see the people I create
Characters taken directly from my rib,
Fermenting in my mind, they wait
Until they are real to me – more than just a glib.
Gears tremble, and tumble under the weight
Left by the mass amount words,
Reorganizing themselves, until they stand straight
Submissive to the collie that has organized their herds.
It is structure that imprisons me, grammar is the bind
That shakes as the digits hit the keys,
For this is the monster, I find myself entwined
Much too wrapped up in, too in love with, to ever leave.

I feel there is something odd about it, the way I wrote it, and I wanted opinions. Thanks.